


Entrusted with the Care of an Angel

by Singing_Violin



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Spiritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singing_Violin/pseuds/Singing_Violin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monica Reyes' perspective on the events of "Existence," including what happened between the scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entrusted with the Care of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> The X-Files characters and universe are not mine.

I am blown away by her compassion, her strength, her vibrancy. Even as I drive her away to a remote town to birth her contended baby, she asks me how I am. When I stop for a smoke, she does not insult me by rattling off all the reasons why I shouldn't. She just gives me a look that tells me I am an adult, and can do what I want, and yet it is such a knowing gaze that I do feel guilty for my addiction, and make myself another promise to quit as soon as possible after this ordeal is over. For now, I need it, and I am thankful that she is not objecting.

It is all I can do to spend the day cleaning up the ghost of a building we have found for her. I am overjoyed to be able to do this for her. And when she comes in and sees what I have done, she smiles at me...I've been told she smiles quite sparingly...and makes me feel like a miracle worker.

She gives me exactly the right look to let me know that my whale sounds are unnecessary...but she doesn't make me feel silly or annoying, as she probably should. I know this isn't what she wanted, but she knows it isn't my fault, and tries to make me comfortable even when it is her own welfare that should be concerning her.

She tells me with just a hint of the terrible sadness that seems to be so much a part of her, but with perfect composure to let me know that she's come to terms with the loss, that her sister was killed in her own home. I can't imagine; I could never get over something like that, yet when I try to comfort her with a touch, she shies away. That's okay...I'm not hurt; I know I'm not the one she wants. And it was presumptuous of me to think I could suffice. But yet she doesn't make me feel unwanted.

She lets me fuss over her...she doesn't even complain when I finally break down and tell her how beautiful she looks. I feel, watching her, as if I am seeing God himself...or herself. I try not to make assumptions. I am suddenly awed with the way she seems to glow, and I take it upon myself to make sure she is as safe as I can make her; intuition tells me I am not just protecting her, but something far larger and more profound.

When I realize the ranger who has been helping us is actually one of them, I experience my first true panic since I got here. I know I've scared Dana too; I can hear it in her voice, but she does not reprimand me. She only begs to know what's going on. I am astonished that even when I realize I've screwed up, and am unsure as to our continued safety, she, in between painful contractions, still seems in complete control.

It is only when the ranger does not react to the burns, and Billy Miles gets up off the ground where he lay dead just hours before, and they come in and surround her bedside as she is helpless to run away, that she begins to show a crack in her armor.

I try to reassure her that everything will be okay, but I am lying through my teeth and she knows it. I tell her to push. It is all I can do. Her plaintive cries as she begs them not to take her child, all the while imperatively pushing it outside of the safety of her womb, into the danger of the outside world, break my heart. If anything more happens to this woman, I know I shall be struck down by the very Lord for my carelessness.

Then it is suddenly over, and I hold a screaming infant in my arms, and she sighs with relief, even though she isn't sure whether she will be allowed to continue this blissful moment. I peer at the monsters gathered around us as they quietly peer at her. And then they turn to leave...without the child. I say a silent prayer, although I am sure God knows what he...or she...has done, and has not done it for me, but for her. She deserves it, after all I know she's been through, and I'm sure I don't even know the half of it.

Soon her peaceful moment is broken as she must deliver the placenta. I am thankful that she has warned me, because she seems to be weakening, and I worry. I can't let her get hurt. As soon as she's done, I can see that she is emotionally and physically exhausted, and yet she implores me to go outside and leave them alone for a minute. Somehow I know that something is waiting for me outside, and that she will be fine for the few moments I must leave her. I am amazed that even now she doesn't try to shoo me outside, but just requests it of me, even though what I see next makes me realize that my exit is essential for her.

I see and call to him...it is Mulder, who I know she needs. But I also know she needs to be in a hospital right now, and I tell him so. Still waiting outside, not wanting to intrude, I stand aside to allow him access to the edifice in which I know mother and son lie, bleeding and rejoicing, like Madonna and child.

I hear someone crying, and, although I realize I am an intruder, I turn around to see. My breath catches in my throat as I see him take the tiny infant in one arm, and the exhausted woman in the other. She sobs onto his shoulder, finally allowing herself the release of all the emotional energy that has been building. Only a man who has literally arisen from the dead can be worthy enough to comfort this amazing woman. It looks so right, and so natural, as if this is something he has done a thousand times.

He strokes her hair and whispers to her, words I cannot quite hear, but that I know are meant to reassure her. I can see her weakening, though, and I fear she may pass out in his arm. I almost interrupt them to remind him of our immediate destination.

The moment is broken before I can do so, as he turns around to see me watching. He looks slightly hurt, and I immediately feel the guilt of a voyeur. But before I can dwell on my own inappropriate behavior, he calls me over. Handing me the child, which I can only hope to treat adequately in the scant minutes in which I am responsible for its precious life, he turns his attention back to Scully, who has become alarmingly pale.

I sigh as he scoops her up into his arms and I follow the couple as he carries her to the waiting helicopter. I was uneasy before, but now everything feels right. It is as it should be. As soon as he is seated in the helicopter with her on his lap, I hand the infant back to him, and he places it on her abdomen, so that her torso supports its head just as his arm supports hers.

As they fly away, and the anomalous bright star which has been shining above us for the last few days begins to fade, I realize I have been witness to a real life miracle, overseen by forces of good beyond our power. I can feel an incredible warmth in the universe, emanating from this new family, and I know at once that I had been briefly entrusted with the care of an angel.


End file.
